


Stakeouts are not that bad after all

by Charlie_Bb



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clint might be a little head over hills, Coulson is bossy, Facebook, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sex, Slash, Social Networks, Stakeouts, Super crush on Agent, and also sexy, and terribly horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Bb/pseuds/Charlie_Bb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Your choice, my treat, Agent. Go get the car.</i><br/>His treat. Did that mean they were actually going out? Clint didn’t know many other explanations for those words, and besides, Coulson wasn’t one to take all of his Agents out for dinner. Was he?<br/>He’d probably take Skye for dinner, sure, but she was more like a daughter to him, and Clint doubted Coulson would ever try that with May, or the two super genius scientists he had in his team.<br/>So, it was a date. With Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stakeouts are not that bad after all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galain/gifts).



> Okay, so. I started writing this story to distract myself from the Stony I am currently writing (superfamily business, and terribly long. I guess you'll see soon enough, uh) and I want to dedicate it to my wonderful friend [galain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/galain/pseuds/galain), who's made of rainbows and kittens and I love very much. 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful flatmate, MJ, who helps me with all the plots to my ff and in this case helped finding the right title to this one. Love you, babe <3
> 
> Also, I would very much like to thank the admins to the pages I have taken the Facebook posts from, who have accorded me permission to use their lines. Go check them out, the interactions are quite fun!  
> ([Steve](https://www.facebook.com/RogersSteve1CaptAmerica), [Tony](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tony-Stark/1455436531422709), [, ](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Phil-Coulson/668641183270718?ref=hlPhil</a)[Clint](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Clint-Barton/607474656061306), [Nat](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Natasha-Romanoff/717539671701154), [JARVIS](https://www.facebook.com/pages/JARVIS/395969707258106))
> 
> Thanks to everyone who might read or comment, and to those of you who'll leave kudos. Enjoy!

“This stupid social network is taking up too much of your time, Agent.”

Coulson gave him a sidelong glance and returned to fix his eyes on the door to the old, wrecked building they were supposed to keep under close surveillance. The air was chilly outside, a soft breeze coming from the north investing all of New York those days, and everything was quiet, no movements to make his senses snap to attention.

Clint yawned, typed a few more words and then put his phone away on the dashboard.

“Well, this stakeout doesn’t offer any distraction, Sir,” he said. Coulson didn’t turn to face him, but Clint could see the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

“What is it so important that you feel the need to post it online, I wonder,” Coulson mumbled, more to himself than to Clint.

The warehouse was silent, walls dirty and old, and none of the smuggling Hill had promised them was actually taking place. They had been promised a huge case, big chief from the Italian mafia come to the States because of a very precious cargo made of alien artefacts – and they got nothing. Not even shadows moving around the stupid building, so it was just natural for him to get bored. He needed some action, and needed it now.

Clint thought of the other Avengers, all cuddled up on the sofa at the highest floor of the Stark tower probably watching a movie or something, and for a moment he wished he’d been there with them, not wasting time in a SUV, watching the night turn into day without anything to do.

But then again, Coulson was there, and Clint had always felt comfortable around him. He liked working with him, even more so after Tahiti – which, Clint couldn’t even _think_ about, God, what they’d done to the man was just too horrifying, and it drove him mad to think of Coulson enduring that much pain. But it was over – Tahiti, and the experiments, and the weird alien writing too – it was over, Coulson was alright, he was _back_.

“I need some air,” Clint said when the silence in the vehicle became way too noisy to his ears. “Be back in five.”

Coulson nodded.

“Don’t force me to send someone out for you, Agent.”

Clint almost smiled as he picked up his phone, but refrained from it just in time; he jumped off the car and finally stretched his legs, numb for the time spent in the small space. There wasn’t anywhere to go except the main road, not five minutes from where their car was parked, and when he reached it noises and lights hit him hard, his eyes and ears needing time to adjust to that explosion of life.

Harlem was alive all around him, streets busy with people even at that time of night, and Clint envied them all a little; sometimes, he envied their simple lives, the fact they had no idea of what threats actually loomed on their heads – but that was what they were there for, him and Nat, and Coulson, and the Avengers. It was a hell of a job that came with a lot of cons and not as many perks, but he knew there wasn’t anything else in the world he’d have liked better than this.

Clint stopped in front of a café, open 24/7 or so the sign said, and stepped inside without thinking twice of it. He checked his phone to make sure there wasn’t any message from Coulson, then clicked on the little button on his screen that connected him to the _stupid social network_ that was Facebook and a few notifications appeared in red at the right side of the screen. He clicked on the world-shaped icon, walking up to the counter and staring at the sweets in the showcase for a while.

_Phil Coulson commented on your status._

_Phil Coulson updated his status._

Clint clicked on the first notification and got redirected to his _All work and no play make Clint a very dull boy_ status, checking for the brand new comment, and Coulson’s profile pictured appeared immediately.

_Work now, play later, Agent._

Clint shook his head as he typed a reply ( _I know, I know. Just, we should have fun sometimes, you know?_ ) and checked Coulson’s status instead, expecting some sharp statement about how socials were ruining everybody’s life and so on, and so forth. Instead, he found a simple update, brief and clear as Coulson was.

_It’s gonna be a long night._

As he started typing a reply to that, an old lady from behind the counter came up to him with a smile on her wrinkly face. Her uniform was peach, nice and neat, well ironed; she looked like the grandmother everyone would love, sweet and kind, always ready to give people a nice word or tell an interesting story.

“What can I get you, dear?” she asked, and Clint knew he wasn’t mistaken; the kindness was almost tangible in her dark blue eyes, and she smelled of waffles and honey.

“Can you give me one more sec?” he asked as he smiled back at her and sent the comment ( _Gonna get some coffee. The usual?)_ at the same time. “I’m waiting for a friend to tell me if he’d like something as well.”

“Take your time, dear, I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Clint thanked her with another smile and checked his phone, hoping in a quick reply. It must’ve been his lucky day, for Coulson had read and replied to his comment already – and really, didn’t he hate that thing? How was he so fast – and so attached to it?

_Yes, please._

_When this is over, drinks are on me, Agent._

Clint stared at the screen, then reloaded the page and looked again, but no, the comments were still there.

Not that he and Coulson had never gone for a drink together before – it had happened in the past, their biggest drinking session being the one in New Mexico a few years back, but it had always happened casually, more or less. They’d just – well, they’d just found each other in the same bar and sat at the same table, which was okay. Coulson offering to buy him drinks on purpose was, well, different. Wasn’t it?

“Can I get two large Americano, take away, please? Two brown sugars in one of them, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, dear.”

The old lady – Sandy, as her nametag said – turned her back on him and started handling the machines, taking two carton cups and plastic lids.

 _Sounds like a, uh, plan, Sir_ , Clint quickly typed and pushed the send button before he could regret it. Of course, he regretted it as soon as the comment was posted online, and seriously, was he stupid or what? Coulson was probably just being nice, compensating for the huge bust that tonight’s stakeout was, and he was blushing like a thirteen year old girl for no reason at all.

When the screen was turning black his phone buzzed and Clint found himself facing another comment from the Director. This time he couldn’t help but smile, _exactly_ like a thirteen year old.

_It is, Agent. Now let’s get back to this stakeout._

 

*

 

Phil relaxed on his seat and put the phone away, surrounded by the comfortable silence of the empty car. He kept his eyes on the warehouse and its door, but it truly seemed like there was no one there. Damn, Hill should’ve known better than send him on a fruitless mission like that; they were expecting some movement from the mafia soon, but it was also possible those guys had been sensing they were onto them and changed their plans.

Quickly, he typed a text message to Hill’s personal phone, since they were on radio silence for that assignment; maybe she would’ve taken his suggestion to abort and blessed it.

The car door opened a couple of minutes later and Barton jumped back in, two steaming cups in his hands and a not so easily readable expression painted on his face. Phil sighed his thankfulness and grabbed the coffee Barton was handing to him, then sipped it slowly.

“Thank you, Agent,” he said without a direct look at him. “I just texted Hill to inform her of the non-existent progress with the mission. Hopefully, we will abort it soon.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Phil checked his phone, but there was still no sign of new incoming messages. He felt tired, so tired he was fatiguing keeping his eyes open, and if he hadn’t had Barton bringing him coffee he had no idea how he was going to work the night through.

“I hope you hadn’t any plan for tonight, Agent,” he said after a while. “It’d be a pity to having wasted them on an unproductive stakeout like this is proving to be.”

“I, uh.”

Barton played with the cup in his hands, rolling it around a couple of times; he was keeping his eyes on the target, body tense as if he was expecting something to happen any moment now.

“Not really,” he let out. “Just a movie with the Avengers. They are getting quite fond of our nights in.”

“They?” Coulson raised his eyebrow. “Of course _they_ are. I imagine Stark and Captain Rogers spend all their nights in in front of a television screen; Stark is too bad an influence on the Captain. His laziness is contagious.”

Barton let out a small laugh that echoed in the night and shook his head.

“Actually, I don’t think he is, Sir,” he said with a smile. “Cap staying at the tower has changed a lot of things.”

“Well, Captain Rogers is a man who can alone change many things, I suppose,” Phil said quietly. “Even Stark, probably.”

“Probably.”

They sat in silence after that, waiting for a text that didn’t come.

 

*

 

_Clint Barton updated his status._

Phil checked the notification that had appeared on his phone and Barton’s page materialized in front of his eyes.

_Stakeouts are not that bad._

He cracked a smile as he quickly typed a comment before going to the briefing Hill had called in.

 

*

 

_Phil Coulson commented on your status._

Clint nodded to whatever it was Hill was saying (stakeouts, fruitless, more data needed, informers say, etc) and checked his phone, shielded from sight from the big table. This thing was becoming weirder by the day – he and Coulson, talking via a stupid social network, writing posts on each other’s timelines and commenting those which didn’t really require their participation.

It was just – well, yes, weird, but it felt like Coulson was there with him all the time, even when he materially wasn’t, and maybe he liked that a little. Maybe he liked that a little _too much_.

_Sometimes they aren’t, Agent._

Clint hardily repressed a smile and coughed instead, getting on himself more attention than he actually needed. Damn.

 

*

 

He hadn’t seen Coulson all day after that super-boring meeting, and maybe he’d wondered whether the Director had actually meant that drinking thing. Maybe he hadn’t – would’ve made sense, of course, but Phil wasn’t one to talk lightly, was he?

Clint shook his head and headed down to the changing rooms to finally free himself from the combat gear. Once there, he abandoned his phone in his locker along with his clothes and the few belongings he was allowed when on mission, and headed for the showers; the hot water jet invested him and embraced his body, tired from the hours of sleep he’d lost and the ones he’d spent in a car talking to Coulson.

The stakeout had been a bust, but something had come from it; after all, he’d spent the night in the car with Coulson – bossy, sassy Coulson, a little looser than when in HQ or around other agents, and Clint liked him like that. Relaxed, funny, and terribly sexy with his in charge voice. Which was a big problem.

Natasha had always told him to forget it, not to encourage that sparkle of physical attraction he’d always felt for the man, and she was right, so terribly right – only, he couldn’t do it. Coulson had been his wet dream since he’d joined SHIELD, so many years before, and he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop shivering every time Coulson called his name, body tensing to the sound of his voice while his brain would give him a very detailed picture of where and how the Director could’ve used his voice other than that.

Clint sighed in the shower and washed away the soap, caressing his body with his hands until he reached his rock-hard cock and stroke it fast while Coulson’s voice echoed in his head like a broken record; he came hard with a deep groan only a few strokes later, cleaning up and abandoning the warmth of the shower afterwards.

 

*

 

_Phil Coulsoon_ _à Clint Barton_

_Meet me at the front door in an hour, Agent._

 

*

 

Clint wore his old black jeans with an old t-shirt and checked his reflection in the mirror, ruffling his hair with his hands.

It really seemed like Coulson was serious about this – going out for a drink. When Clint had replied to his post with a _Yes, Sir. Can’t wait_ , suggesting also a nice, quiet place they could go to, Coulson had written something that had made Clint’s hopes jump up high.

_Your choice, my treat, Agent. Go get the car._

His treat. Did that mean they were actually _going out_? Clint didn’t know many other explanations for those words, and besides, Coulson wasn’t one to take all of his Agents out for dinner. Was he?

He’d probably take Skye for dinner, sure, but she was more like a daughter to him, and Clint doubted Coulson would ever try that with May, or the two super genius scientists he had in his team.

So, it was a date. With Coulson.

Clint smirked and ran upstairs to get the car around.

 

*

 

The place he’d chosen was quiet as promised, with a familiar and cosy atmosphere Coulson seemed to like immediately. They ordered steak and fries, and a couple of pints to wash it all down, sitting down at the table in the farthest corner of the room as not to be disturbed.

“Didn’t think you were serious about this, Sir,” Clint smirked as he attacked his steak, and Coulson smirked right back at him.

“Well, I owed you one, Agent. And we couldn’t make it for breakfast.”

“It isn’t the only breakfast we’ll get,” Clint said, feeling a little bolder already after only a few sips of his dark beer. “Sir,” he added then, to Coulson’s pleasure.

The man seemed to _love_ ranks, and he cared an awful lot about the authority given to him by his. Bossy.

“Might’ve been the first of many others, Agent,” Coulson said, and his eyes sparkled of a whole new different light. “Who knows, we might get one tomorrow.”

Clint knew that voice – it was a sexy voice, a little rough on the edges, and it implied so much more than it actually let out. He himself used that voice whenever he wanted to get into someone’s pants, and usually succeeded.

“I look forward to it, Sir.”

Clint smirked. Coulson grinned back. The atmosphere all around them was getting less relaxed by the second, and much tenser instead; Coulson had a look in his eyes Clint could only define as provocative, as if he wanted to push him over the edge with his every word. Clint had to admit he was doing a hell of a job with that.

So they ate, and drank their beers, and ordered some more pints, and some whiskey for good measure, and by the end of the meal Clint was feeling a little tipsy already. Coulson’s eyes were lucid with alcohol and maybe something else, and Clint had no idea of what had really happened, or how, when he felt the Director sitting next to him on that not so comfortable leather seat. Still, it was a pleasant feeling, hot body against his own, and a hand slowly sliding up his thigh.

“Er, Sir –“

“Something wrong, Agent?” Coulson whispered into his ear, and Clint shivered.

“Not at all,” he managed to mutter as the hand slid up a little further and positioned extremely close to his undeniable bulge. “ _Sir._ ”

“Good,” Coulson said, and his breath smelled like alcohol. “Then follow me, Agent.”

Clint stared at the empty seat for a moment, wondering how the hell Coulson had just managed to slip away without him even noticing; instead, the Director was up on his feet, smoothing his black t-shirt and getting his brown leather jacket. He didn’t turn to look at him as he walked outside the pub at a resolute pace, back straightened, and Clint couldn’t help but notice the way his black jeans wrapped his lower back so perfectly.

He jumped on his feet and hurried after him, almost forgetting his own jacket in the process; he stepped outside the door, expecting to find Coulson in the car already and being very disappointed when the Director called for him from a few feet from the pub, in the opposite direction of where the car was parked.

“Sir?”

Coulson smirked but said nothing and kept walking at his steady pace, Clint right behind him.

“The car –“

“We don’t need the car, Agent. Unless you want to drive for an hour before getting to my apartment, or three to get to yours.”

Clint swallowed whatever complain he was going to make and kept his mouth shut; he didn’t even want to drive _five minutes_ , because it was going to be five more minutes he would be kept apart from the promising situation Coulson was planning on getting him into.

How did they end up like that, exactly? Bickering on Facebook, that was how. Clint had never believed any social network would result in anything this interesting, but when Coulson stopped in front of one of the many Holiday Inns in town he had to change his mind about that.

 

*

 

As soon as they entered the room, Clint found himself pushed against a wall and held there by Coulson’s body pressed hard against his. He gave a little _hmpf_ noise as his back hit the wall – ouch – but Coulson was already hard against his crotch and really, Clint didn’t have much to complain about. Fuck his back. Pun intended.

“I see you’re ready, Agent,” Coulson hissed as he bit the side of his neck, right where his jugular was ferociously pulsing under the tender skin. “I didn’t expect quite a response, I should say. Not that I’m complaining.”

The bastard grinned in the semi darkness and pressed his lips on Clint’s, forcing them open with his tongue. Clint welcomed the intrusion quite happily and his hands slid down to grab Coulson’s shirt, infiltrating underneath not a moment later. Coulson pushed himself in between his thighs making him moan in the kiss, and when one of his hands struggled with his zip to get the jeans open Clint groaned, loudly.

“Damn.”

Coulson gave him a look that seemed to suggest that _damn_ wasn’t even close to describe what he was gonna do to him, and Clint hated him a little bit only to forget all about it when Coulson’s hand got inside his underwear and grabbed his pulsing erection, stroking it slowly.

“Fuck.”

“Language, Agent,” Coulson mocked him, and stopped his hand-work long enough to let Clint strip him of his leather jacket. With the hand he wasn’t keeping occupied by masturbating him, Coulson undid his own zip and sighed heavily when he accidentally brushed against his own cock.

“Sir, let –“

Clint stared into his eyes and watched the pupils dilate, lips slightly disclosed that carried the memory of the order he’d just given. For the first time in his life Clint saw him almost completely stripped of that unnerving control that had always marked him, and he looked so fucking sexy without it.

“On your knees, Agent.”

Then of course, Coulson _was_ a control freak, and not even shaking with desire was gonna make him less in control of the situation. Figures. Clint didn’t reply, not verbally at least; he slid down on his knees as asked until he found himself facing Coulson’s erection constricted by the soft cotton of his underwear; he placed his hands on Coulson’s hips and a gentle kiss on his rock-hard dick, feeling the cotton fabric in his mouth as he opened it to suck the tip through it.

Coulson moaned and pushed his hips forward, silently asking for more. Clint smiled mischievously as he slowly freed him from his boxers and licked the length of his dick, taking it in his mouth immediately after. Coulson grabbed the back of his head and sustained himself by pressing his other hand against the wall, thrusting lightly so that his dick would touch the back of his throat.

Clint groaned and relaxed his throat as much as he could, breathing heavily through his nose, hands clenched tightly on Coulson’s bare skin. He was so hard it almost hurt, cock pulsing furiously and requiring attention – but oh, Coulson tasted so good, so fulfilling, thrusting harder and fucking his mouth like no one had before.

“Up, Agent,” Coulson said in a shaky voice. “Get up. Now.”

Clint let him slip out of his mouth with a soft noise, a rivulet of saliva still linking them for a few, trembling moments. When he got on his feet his knees were shaking slightly and maybe Coulson noticed, since he grabbed him by the waist and manhandled him until Clint found himself facing the wall, skin against concrete.

He felt Coulson pressed against his back, dick finding its way through his butt cheeks while Coulson’s expert hands slid them apart.

“I’m afraid we are short of lube, Agent,” Coulson said, breathing heavily as he tried to contain the visible, and rather tangible excitement. Clint bumped his hand against the wall as he shook his head and pushed himself backwards, hoping that would be enough for Coulson to understand that he didn’t give a damn about lube as of now. He tried to say the words but they got stuck in his throat, and he moved his hand until he managed to find Coulson’s hips and grab them.

“Now,” he said, and of course Coulson was a bastard because he asked, “Now, what?”

“Now, _Sir_.”

Lips on the back of his neck, Coulson grinned as he started fingering him with much more care and devotion Clint would’ve expected, tips of his fingers wet with his own saliva curling inside of him to stretch him open and stimulate his muscles. Clint found himself panting heavily not long after that, arching his back and pushing against Coulson’s fingers as the Director inserted three, then four of them, and seriously, who the fuck had taught him to do that? The way he touched him – slowly, carefully, then passionately, almost violently – was driving him mad, he didn’t think he could endure that for much longer.

So he jabbed his fingernails in the tender skin of Coulson’s hips and hoped it would be enough.

Apparently it was, for Coulson slowly retreated his fingers from inside him and positioned his cock against his butthole instead, carefully pushing the tip inside. The absence of lube was making Clint’s body shiver with pain but he kept his mouth shut and focused on relaxing his muscles instead, breathing in and out deeply until he reached a state of mind where pain was nothing but a small, distant point inside his head.

He clenched his fist against the wall when Coulson pushed himself in further, almost completely inside now, and the final thrust was what truly took Clint’s breath away, leaving him gasping for air. Distantly, as if through an old radio communication, Clint heard Coulson whispering something in his ear, but couldn’t make out the words; his voice was soothing, balm to his pain, and when a hand delicately closed around his hard cock Clint exhaled loudly.

It took him a little longer to get used to the intrusion in his body this time, but Coulson’s presence was reassuring, hands caressing his body lightly, tracing imaginary lines on his tanned skin.

The pain was still there, dormant in a dark and remote angle of his mind, and Clint found the strength to push his whole body backwards to meet Coulson’s with a bumping noise that excited him, sending shivers down his spine.

Coulson started fucking him, slowly at first, but Clint moved to meet his thrusts and made perfectly clear to him that it wasn’t enough.

And Coulson didn’t hold back.

His thrusts became deeper, steady and hard as his balls bumped against Clint’s and his pre-come wetted his hole.

“More,” Clint vaguely articulated and Coulson stopped moving for a moment, breath against his neck, hands on his hips until Clint added, “ _Sir_.”

Coulson thrust harder and harder inside of him, making his whole body shake violently while masturbating him with fast strokes that were pushing him over the edge.

Clint came hard, Coulson’s name on his lips together with a curse or two, and his knees gave up when he felt Coulson’s dick twitch inside of him and the first drops of his sperm invade him before he could pull himself out.

“Fuck.”

Clint rested his forehead against the wall while Coulson put his arms around his waist and sustained them both, placing a gentle wet kiss on the side of his neck, right below his ear.

“Yeah.”

When Coulson guided him to the bed and made him lay down, cleaning him up with a wet towel he’d taken from the bathroom Clint let him, eyelids heavy and body weak; he didn’t say a word and waited for Coulson to lay down next to him, immediately taking possession of his body to use him as a human cushion. Clint lay his head on Coulson’s chest and let his breathing lull him to sleep.

“We’re definitely going for breakfast tomorrow.”

 

*

 

_Clint Barton updated his status._

Phil checked his phone and the notification from that dumb social network redirected him to Barton’s profile, where a new status had just appeared.

_Finally getting to sleep in, and all after a great night! I feel like it’s my birthday._

Phil cracked a smile and ignored Skye’s inquisitive look, walking down the corridor right to the lab where Fitz-Simmons were waiting for him.

 

*

 

Clint grinned widely, deliberately deaf to Tony’s questions on what it was that made him smile like that on a dull afternoon.

_Phil Coulson likes your post._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
